


Paintbrushes and Cherry trees

by Nickory



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, I'm sorry Armin's parents I bet u is good peoples, Its been a while since i watched aot so meh, M/M, Modern Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Painting, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms), artist!Armin Arlet, creepily painting people in the park, homophobic parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickory/pseuds/Nickory
Summary: - Everyday that man would come to the park, every day Armin would sit under that tree, sketching that man in the park. Until one day he didn’t come and the young artist had nothing to draw.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Erwin Smith, Armin Arlert/Erwin Smith
Kudos: 45





	Paintbrushes and Cherry trees

**Author's Note:**

> Quick! I need to post this before my anxiety starts acting up!
> 
> Alright, so first things first:  
> I tweaked their ages a bit just bc.  
> Armin is 19 in this  
> And Erwin is like 23 or 24?  
> Idk

~

The pencil stalked swiftly on the blank sheet of paper as the scribbler poured out his mind. He glanced behind the easel at the man who was his muse. It was funny how he didn’t know it yet.

Armin liked to draw this man. His calm yet muscular physique gave him both the challenge and relaxation he needed.

His weeks were always long and skeptical. He made art to sell for money because how else would he stay in uni?

The problem was that not a lot of people appreciated art as much these days so he could never make any real profit. Just enough to survive and still go to school.

To pay his ridiculously high University tuition fee, he had to make at least five paintings a week, which meant at least one a day.

He would not say he was the best artist but he thanked the old ladies of fate that he could at least create an impression on paper that was enough to be called art.

Without the talent, he didn't know where he'd be.

But every day, even with his busy schedule, he made time to come back to that park and sit under that tree and draw that man.

No matter when he came, the man was always there, feeding the ducks, staring up at the sky, talking with the old lady who walks her dogs, sitting on the bench reading a book. He liked it that he was always there.

Armin had never gathered the courage to ask his mysterious muse for even a name.

He was quiet and reserved and didn’t really _do_ people he just liked drawing them which was a weird combination in itself.

He dropped his pencil when he was satisfied with the sketch and dug into his backpack for his acrylics.

Mixing the colors and preparing his palettes, today the man was wearing a simple blue tee shirt with a red scarf and jeans that suited him well. Armin noted the blueness of his eyes, just like the sky and the bright yellowness that was his hair.

He pulled out a rubber band and tied back his own hair to keep it from getting in his eyes.

He pulled out his phone and placed it on the easel stand, putting his headphones to his ears, he began to apply the color, _Believer_ by Imagine Dragons on rewind, blasting in his ears.

Nothing could distract him now. When it was him and his art, it was him and his art and nothing else.

He let himself drown into the music, his wrists moving fluidly to add life to the picture he had drawn.

Armin liked drawing the man. Especially on days like this when he had a rough beginning to the day and he'd only just pull out his easel and drag it to the park to sketch his muse.

It helped him relax, to stay calm. Unlike his other rather rushed paintings, he took his time on these ones, capturing every speck and freckle he could make out in the distance.

The most defeating difference between this art and the one he sold for money was that he enjoyed this one. In this, he was free to do as he pleased without patrons yelling into his ears on how they want teacups balanced on their heads at an exact angle of 42° clockwise in their portraits.

No. Just him, the man and his music.

The youth drew with his heart just like he always did when sketching his muse. This particular artwork took longer though because, in this, he was trying a new technique of light and shadow effect. It was hard and difficult work but the end product always made his struggle worth more.

The sun began to sulk into the horizon just as he was finishing.

He turned off his phone, packed up careful not to let the still wet work to touch any surfaces, and carried it home.

He didn't know where the man lived or to what time the man ever left the park but he liked that he was always there, as if waiting for him, like he was as attached to the artist as the artist was to him.

Armin lived in a small practically empty apartment. He had barely brought anything from his grandfather's house with him and he had no intent to go back for them ... especially not with his parents knowing that he was still alive.

They absolutely ' _loved'_ him! And they made sure to show it every day of the first 16 years of his life before he left. They'd speak at him lacing spite Into their words, they'd look at him disgustingly and they'd hit him. They'd hit him as if he were lower than the son of theirs that he was. He knew he was weak but he didn't need them pointing it out. Long story short, his parents found it very difficult accepting that their son was not going to marry the beautiful lady they had dreamt of who would bear their grandchildren. Armin had made it clear to them that he liked guys and they simply hadn't accepted it. There was nothing more heartbreaking.

He had survived through high school alright and as soon as he turned 16, he packed up and made a run for it. Finally free to live his own life not caring the cost or suffering he'd have to endure first. Running purely on the thought that one day, just one day he'd get to his goal, whatever that may be.

He set the painting down leaning it against the wall by the door beside all the others he had drawn. The face of the man seemed to smile at him.

He left it to dry.

After a dinner of Instant Noodles --the most healthy food in the world-- He took a cold cold bath and went to bed.

His days didn't consist of going out at 10 pm to party with friends because he lacked those.

He had no family to Skype back at home till the dusk hours and no life to reflect on.

He was alone in this world. Well, not alone per se, he had his art and that is why he loved it.

Day to day, after lectures and making his profit sketches, he'd draw the man at the park and those paintings he never sold because he didn't know why. He just kept them. Maybe because he loved them best and you keep things you love close to your heart.

It was okay as it was to him. He needn't spoil anything just be making a move and asking the man’s name.

He could just assume.

The man looked young, the maybe late twenties telling from his stature but that twinkle in his eyes every time Armin squinted at it from an angle made him look younger, 24 maybe? Besides, Armin didn't want a name for he had grown accustomed to referring to his stranger as _his muse_. Even if it was from a distance

One bright sunny afternoon, Armin dragged up his easel from his apartment to the park. He set up and began to guess the man's activity for the day and looked to spot him. 

But, 

the man simply wasn't there.

He wasn't at the pond, he wasn't sitting on the bench, the old lady who walked her dogs at 5:00 pm casually strolled by him. A strange feeling began to churn inside the artist, emptiness, and loss. Suddenly, he didn't feel like drawing. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and close his eyes.

He saw nothing that interested him enough to print onto the blank A3 sheet. He packed up and went back home.

The man didn't come the next day or the next or that whole week as a matter of fact and he didn't even come the next and this had Armin worried.

_ What if something had happened? _

_ He'd never see his mu _ s _e again_

_ He couldn't draw anything ever without his muse. _

He attempted to draw the lady with her dogs but she never stood at the same place long enough. Maybe the ducks in the pond but they are at the wrong angle, maybe the skyscape but his sketches of these weren't coming out.

He was nothing without his muse, he realized. And this made him feel miserable and awfully lonely with the loads of spare time he had left.

Armin became restless and scared and worried and lost and so many emotions boiled inside him... if he had been closer to the man maybe he would have known where he has gone off to. 

He reminded himself, _he_ _ probably has a life too, you know _

Three weeks passed and Armin was already half-dead inside, he swore that if fate ever brought his muse back, he was going to get to brave up and get to know the subject of his inspiration.

The next day, it rained... Armin didn't know why he decided to go out that day. He packed his easel and a wad of A3s stuffed into a waterproof file and picked an umbrella, adorning a bright yellow raincoat, he padded out into the rain and towards the park.

The rain slowed and eventually came to a stop as he reached the grassy play place taking his spot under the tree, he set up his supplies determined to draw something that day.

The after dew from the rain made the scenery look beautiful and natural and relaxing.

He put on _Demons_ and with the song blasting in the silence of the air. It fitted the mood as he began to draw. He imagined the man sitting on the bench reading a book as the ducks created ripples in the water, the old lady walking midway into the image with her dogs. He carved from his imagination the man of his problems, said man's picturesque as he envisioned it.

With the finishing touches, a boy under a peach tree, painting, he set the pencil down.

"Hmmm, I reckon that looks like me" a voice hummed from behind him making him jump and spin around. A figure in a grey raincoat stood behind him, eyes fixated on the masterpiece. His blond hair was pasted against his forehead and blue eyes still as bright yet holding slight darkness.

" That, man..." he repeated, "Is that me?"

Armin nodded slowly not trusting his mouth to give a smooth enough answer.

" You draw really nice." The man complimented," So this is what you've always been doing." he smiled at him, sky blue eyes sparkling in the setting sunlight. " Do you have a name?"

"A- Ar- rmin, sir" he stuttered, still in shock that the man that had been lost for weeks now was standing right behind him.

" Oh no no, none of that, I'm Erwin." His nose crinkled, " I'm not that old, am I? Will be 24 in the fall. Too young to be a sir. So what do you do with all your drawings? I reckon you don't sell them to some company cause I haven't gotten the billion-dollar call yet" he mused.

" Um- I keep them..." he said awkwardly, staring at his feet.

"Why?" The man- Erwin cocks his head to the side.

Why _did_ he keep the paintings? " Because I like to. I like to draw you" Armin answered honestly

" Oh... it must have been hard then... I've been gone for a while." He suddenly sounded sorrowful.

"Yeah"

" I lost someone... that's why."

"Who?" Armin asked out of curiosity before realizing that the blond probably did not want those memories to surface. It was none of his business. He chastised himself.

" No one really, well, actually someone… just this important person in my life. They were kind and smart and all in all... amazing." His voice cracked and Armin could tell that he was resisting tears, " They were awesome and they understood me and they accepted me for who I was when no one did. Now I can’t even show them how grateful I am because they're not here anymore."

" oh..." it was a lot for the young artist to process.

" I locked myself away, thinking that no one would notice." He continued with a pained chuckle, " I must have caused you pain huh? Without my bootiful face to draw," he flipped his nonexistent ponytail and that gesture made Armin giggle.

" Then, I remembered that I didn't have to sulk. I remembered the kind Mrs. Moon and her dogs, the cute little ducklings in the pond, the shapes in the skies, and the boy who watched me every day from under the flowery peach tree. I'm sorry for not noticing you earlier." He grinned, " I'll make it up to you." He paused in thought, "I shall treat you to dinner, 6 pm tomorrow?"

Armin felt a smile tug on the edges of his lips, without missing a heartbeat, " Yes, okay. I'll be here" he tried not to sound too enthusiastic.

" Great!"

"Okay"

He began to pack his supplies and with Erwin's help, they packed everything to Armin's apartment and for once the empty room did not feel as empty anymore. Armin showed Erwin almost all of his past pieces which he adored. He began to touch everything as if a 4-year old fascinated by the world. Armin realized that yes, he needed this man, and maybe just maybe, this man needed him too. To lose someone is not a light issue.

_ Erwin was his name...  _ after so long of wanting to know, he finally did. Armin thought as he watched him run around his apartment excitedly. He needed a friend and had come to the park and met him...

The next day the artist went to the tree just like every day except this time with no supplies, just his heart. He could feel a new kind of art blooming as the older man walked up to the younger, just as the flowers bloomed in the peach tree above their heads. The older sending the younger a grin filled with something, some emotion... _could this be love?_

~

**Author's Note:**

> *stuffs more art stuff in your face*  
> WOW! this is sappy  
> (PS: You guys are awesome)  
> And thx for reading!! <3


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